Cleveland
by contraryplanetary
Summary: 15 year-old Allie Cleveland stumbles across her magical abilities in an attempt to save herself from a man who wants her dead. When she is sent to Hogwarts, she is ready for a new start, but the ghosts of her pasts may not want to stay behind...
1. grilled cheese and badass royalty

**A/N: **Alright kiddies, just throwing this out there. Shockingly, I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, however, I would have made sure to give Daniel Radcliffe some colored contacts so his eyes would be green like they're supposed to! Sorry, pet peeve. I'm not going to say "I don't own Harry Potter blah blah" every chapter, because unless JK decides to sell the rights on e-bay, I'm still just going to be a silly girl writing about my favorite books.

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**Chapter 1: magic?! and grilled cheese, and all-around badassity**

"…Come again?" I couldn't even begin to imagine the look on my face after having that…_ speech_ recited to me just five minutes earlier. Actually, let me try to describe it for you lovely ladies and gents; I had to resemble a fifteen year-old girl getting marshmallows stuffed in her mouth, bitch-slapped several times and then being told, "Congrats! You've just given birth to a grilled cheese sandwich." Ah, my imagination impresses even me sometimes.

"We believe you are a witch, Miss Cleveland, and we would love for you to attend Hogwarts. Though we must admit your case is very rare. It has never taken this long for the signs to show. However, your magical, er… tendencies are now apparent and cannot be ignored or neglected. We can have you situated and ready for lessons as early as next week, if it is convenient for you and your mother, of course."

I think it was the use of the words "magical tendencies" in a serious sentence that finally set me off. My brain went fuzzy and my knees felt weak. The last coherent thing I mumbled was, "Ah shit. I was really hoping to give birth to a bologna sandwich on wheat. Can we name him Bartholomew?" And then I was sprawled out on the carpet.

"Allie! Allie honey, wake up."

"But Mum, Pedro is a silly name for a grilled cheese sandwich."

"Heh, ain't magic grand?" the stern-looking woman said sheepishly, now addressing my distraught mother.

The eccentric old man, however, merely stood, flung his long silver beard over his shoulder and said cheerily, "Well, all this talk about food is making me hungry. Would you happen to have any bologna? Preferably some that isn't named Bartholomew."

Mum fell in a neat little pile next to me. Nothing like spending a little mother-daughter unconscious time together on the day a girl finds out she's a witch.

xx

Perhaps I'm going a little too fast. Like… that blasted cup and saucer ride at the amusement park when you've just had a cotton candy eating contest. I mean it's just a couple spins, eh? How hard could it be to hold in a couple bags of that swirly diabetes on a stick? And nobody wants to be the wimp that backs down from a "wee baby ridey widey" cause they've got "tummy twubble". No, it's never a pretty sight getting off those teacups, especially for the poor trash bin. Or when you're riding down the biggest hill in the whole damn neighborhood and then you realize some dickhead (AKA your best friend, who's a little devilish manwhore) thought it would be simply _hilarious_ to remove your brake chain. Stupid Jack… he wore my rusty bike chain like a medal around his neck for a week while I got to wear a lovely full-on leg cast for 3 months. I got my revenge though, no need to fear. All those times I accidentally "lost control of my crutches" were enough to ensure that good old Jackie would never be having babies. And then… oops. Going too fast again. I really need to stop doing that.

Well, before we start off this whole shebang I might as well get on with the awkward subject of explaining my looks to you. I've never been one of those people that like talking about themselves, it's just not really my style. But I don't want you all to think I look like a mutant or anything, so let's do this.

My hair's a medium shade of brown. I think someone called it chestnut one time. Two years ago I decided to hack it off all the way up to my ears. I will **never **make that mistake again. I act enough like a guy without having to resemble one. Now it's finally at a length that doesn't make me look like I'm starting boot camp; I'd say it comes to the middle of my back, in these curls that are beastly and damn near impossible to tame.

I'm average height, about five and a half feet tall the last time I got measured in gym class. I eat everything in sight, but I've always had an "athletic figure". Someone told me that before too. Trust me, I don't go around calling myself these things.

My eyes are the only thing about me that I don't feel weird talking about. They're turquoise (I know, pretty sweet right?), and they've got these pretty gold speckies in them. Is speckies even a word? Haha, speckies. Speckies. Speckies. Speck… I need to be slapped sometimes.

Alright, that's more than enough uncomfortable describing of myself. Moving on…

I suppose the whole "Holy crap I'm a freaky magic girl!" issue started with Jack. Yep, that kid's a part of just about everything that I do. He's the only person I've ever felt like I would die without. I know that phrase is used so often between stupid girls my age when referring to their best friends that change about four times a month, but you can trust me when I say without Jack Dawson, I am nothing.

We've been more than inseparable for the past ten years. I won't bore you with the "this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship" story, but I _will _say that it involved me convincing him that the brown pile in the sandbox was seriously chocolate. "Just go ahead and eat it Jack, only the coolest kid in the sandbox is allowed to eat it."

Needless to say I went home to Mum that day with a bloody lip courtesy of good old Jackie, but I couldn't stop talking about my new best friend. He spent nearly the whole rest of the afternoon spitting "chocolate" out of his mouth and… oh Lord, I ended up telling you the whole story anyway. Ah well, can't say I didn't try to spare you.

Jack was never an unattractive kid. His hair was sandy blonde and… flippy? I guess flippy's a good word for it. When we were thirteen he went through his "skater-phase" and it was constantly in his eyes. One day I got so annoyed I bought him this bright turquoise silky headband with kissing swans on it. The kid wore it everyday for a month. I think that was the beginning of my habit of calling him Jackie. But after almost five years of being called Al, it was only fair.

Thirteen was also the beginning of Jack's phase that I liked to call "the age of skanks". That year was quite suckish for me. Don't get me wrong, I could NEVER feel that way about Jack, but it pissed me off to see girls in miniskirts and shitty band T-shirts following him around making goo-goo eyes.

I mean get real, you're thirteen. Go trade Pokemon cards or something. That was my philosophy, at least. Unfortunately, I was the object of some unwanted attention myself; guys just couldn't understand that I didn't _want_ to go make out behind the basketball courts. One kid got so bad I actually had to resort to a rather brutal knee in the crotch. Luckily, both mine and Jackie's love interests eventually dwindled down to only a few random preteen sluts and high-voiced boys.

xx

Back in April, Jackie and I received the prestigious honor of being crowned "the badass-iest kids in town". Pretty sweet deal when you're only 14. Yes, I know what all of you are thinking now- "Yes! Story time! It must be my lucky day!" Oh, you people really do know how to make a girl blush. Well, if you really want to know what went down…

Once upon a time, there was a girl, no… **queen** (oh yeah now THAT'S badass) with curly brown hair and eyes liketh the morning sky. She and her most loyal, trusted companion, no… **court jester**, Jack, more famously knowneth as Princess Jackie, were trapped in a dungeon with brick walls and overly perky adults. If thou wanted to be all technical about it, I suppose it could be called school.

In this particular educational torture chamber, there dwelled a cantankerous, hunch-backed, saggy faced, red gooey lipstick and wig-wearing hag, who tooketh pleasure in her prisoner's pain. She especially enjoyed watching me and my court jester squirm.

"Who is the current president of the United States of America, Miss Cleveland?" Being the busy queen that I am, I had no time to spend on current affairs such as these.

I shrugged. "Why don't we ask someone in this room that lives in America? Oh wait… it seems we all live on _this_ continent." Sniggers were quickly stifled as the hag, Mrs. Hollahan, walked up to my desk as quickly as she could for her extreme old age.

"Perhaps you would like to try keeping your mouth in check, Allie. You and your partner in crime," she gestured to Jack who was sitting in the back of the classroom attempting to balance wads of paper on the tip of his nose, "can stay after school and do your usual punishment."

Jackie shot up out of his seat, crumpled paper flying all over. "What did I do, Mrs. Hollohan?!"

The nasty hag turned her evil grin (in which several teeth were missing) to him and said in what she obviously thought was a sweet voice, "It's just a precaution, Mr. Dawson."

"That rhymed," I muttered, with a smirk. Then I shouted across the room, "Yeah Jackie, I'd hate to sit there polishing Sally all by my lonesome."

Sally was what me and Jackie not-so-affectionately named Mrs. Hollohan's globe. It was a beast; about five feet tall and massively fat, and took up a majority of the front corner of the room. It would be about the thirtieth afternoon that year that would be spent polishing that monster.

Although, I don't think Mrs. Hag really understood how much fun polishing Sally could be. One time I actually got a boost on top of it (I climbed on Jackie's shoulders and he flung me up there) and I got to spin around on it. Unfortunately, Mrs. Hollohan walked back in just in time to see me fly off of it into the chalkboard. Detention is much less enjoyable than polishing Sally.

After my kind, loving teacher walked away grumbling about how kids these days were loopy, naming inanimate objects, I propped my head on my elbow and tried to look like I was awake. Eventually I gave up, and my head fell on the desk. I was out like a light in no time. Some minutes later, I felt a tug on my hair. I shot up in my seat and glanced to my right. Mrs. Hollohan was standing next to me. "Principal's office, if you don't mind Miss Cleveland."

I groaned, but stood and slowly made my way to the front of the room, past her massive globe, and through the doorframe. And that, my friends, is when brilliance struck. I backtracked a few paces and stopped in front of Sally, then looked to the door; I did this several times. Sally. Door. Sally. Door. Sally. Door. Sally… alright, you've got the point. I looked out among my pupils. They looked bewildered, but I ignored them and finally found who I was looking for. Jack was wearing an identical grin to mine, and I could tell he knew exactly what I was thinking. So I turned and gave Mrs. Hollohan, who was looking just as puzzled as my other classmates, a salute and a wink before skipping out of the room singing happily.

After I sweet-talked the principle out of detention (I can be such a butt-kisser when I want to), I was walking back to the room of death when the bell rang, meaning it was time to switch classes.

"Ah, shit!" I started pushing through people to get back to Hollohan's room and grab my stuff before I was late to algebra (what a shame to be late for that, right?). But an arm grabbed me and wheeled me around, and began dragging me along with him. Jackie passed me my books and said, "By the way, whatever kind of Sally action you were planning back in Hollohan's, I'm so in." He grinned mischievously and proceeded up the stairwell to his next class.

When the final bell rang, I jumped down the stairs three at a time and walked into Mrs. Hollohan's room panting for breath, but ready to begin Operation Get Sally (er… that sounded a bit cooler in my head). Jack waltzed in about a minute later trying to play it cool; his heavy breathing, however, made it obvious he was just as anxious to get started as I was.

"Do you really think we're strong enough to do this?" Jack asked, warily eyeing the colossal sphere.

"Only one way to find out, yes?" I walked to the other side of Sally and began pushing with all my might. The globe slid easily on the tile floor and everything was golden, up until we hit the door.

"How the hell did she fit this thing through here?!" Jack walked around Sally, observing a way to get her through the door frame that was just barely too small to squeeze her out. "Ok, we have to take Sally out of her frame and then she should be able to roll right through the door." So, with a great deal more difficulty, we lifted Sally off of her metal frame (blasted thing really was quite heavy). I proceeded to roll the monstrous bolder out into the hallway with Jackie following close behind, carrying the metal contraption.

Needless to say, we were very proud of our ingenious plan; that is, until we ran into a group of about twenty or so of our classmates that were still milling about talking. "Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Scuse me, all." I grinned sheepishly at them while rolling Sally by at top speed. Jack, on the other hand, had stopped running, and I heard him chatting amiably with our friends, whose mouths were all hanging open in awe at what we were doing. I ran back to him and grabbed his arm, hissing, "More time for chat later, Mr. Social." He went back into action mode as he remembered what he was holding and quickly said, "This never happened", to the crowd before we took of running down the remainder of the hallway.

Once we reached the stairwell, it was a long and difficult journey up three flights of steps. On more than one occasion we had to run back down and retrieve Sally, who took a liking to rolling far away from us. Finally, we reached the top of the stairs, finished up operation Haha Hollohan (again… cooler in my head), and walked out of the building, grinning with the knowledge of victory.

xx

The next day, it was time for phase two. As we were walking up to the school, a crowd had already formed. I exchanged a glance with Jack and we pushed our way through the herd of people to the front. Mrs. Hollohan was being supported by two teachers, who looked very confused, but also slightly amused, if I wasn't mistaken. They were all looking up to the roof of the building. Jack and I faked fascination and looked up, where we saw Sally perched right where we left her.

"Oh my good gracious, Jack, is that _Sally!?_" I exclaimed, flabbergasted.

"How in the world did she get up there?!" Jack cried.

"_Sally,_" moaned Mrs. Hollohan in anguish.

"Who's the one naming inanimate objects now?" Jack murmured to me. I snorted.

"Well", snapped Mrs. Hollohan, who was apparently over the initial shock of seeing her baby sitting on the roof, "how exactly do you propose we get it down?" She was obviously unaware of the door on the third floor that led right outside to the roof.

"I think this job calls for an exceptionally large ladder," I said seriously.

"Or perhaps a catapult", Jack offered. I had to turn away and shove my fist in my mouth to hide the outburst of laughter. When I turned back around, Mrs. Hollohan was looking at the pair of us murderously with realization in her eyes. Ah, shit.

Me and Jack walked into Hollohan's classroom early that afternoon, feeling like we should at least be on time to her lesson after all of the emotional damage we caused her. When we entered the room, however, we were astounded to see there were presents on our desks.

"You might want to listen for a ticking noise before you open it," I advised Jackie, "who knows what kind of explosives Hollohan has in her possession."

There was a card on top of my present. I opened it cautiously, ready to stop drop and roll at any second. The message was short.

_Allie, _

_Congratulations at being the most badass girl we have ever met. When we saw you guys yesterday after school we knew you were going to give Hollohan some serious grief. Well done, you represent the eighth grade quite nicely. _

_Sincerely,_

_Everyone who was a witness to your crime spree._

I smirked and opened the gift eagerly. Inside was a shiny plastic tiara that had rhinestones glued on it, forming the words "bad 2 da bone". Tracing my fingers over it lovingly, I turned to Jackie, who was already wearing his crown, which said "pretty pretty princess".

"At least now we've got something sassy to wear to detention," he said, beaming.

I sighed happily, and put the tiara on my head. "It sure is good to be the queen."

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More to come soon, sorry there's no magic yet.

Reviewing is fun, reviewing is fun, reviewing is fun.


	2. Going In

Just thought I'd make a little confession:

I am ridiculously obsessed with America's Best Dance Crew on MTV. GO JABBAWOCKEEZ :)

And also please, please if you read, review. Tell me what you think about the story! Thanks to those of you who have already, it's appreciated!

With that being said, let's move on to…

**Chapter Two: Going In**

The past three months have forced me to face the toughest trials of friendship I have ever encountered.

We were in my room. Jackie was leaning back in one of those cushy armchairs that are used mainly for having contests to see who can spin the most times without flying off into a wall. I actually have a couple battle scars from my younger days of "Spin Till You Hurl All Over". But I'm far too childish for those games now. I haven't played in… fine it's been two weeks. Sheesh.

I was sprawled across my bed, with my head dangling off the side so my hair just skimmed the floor. I was strumming absentmindedly on my Gibson Les Paul Standard, better known by all as Ferdinand. That guitar is my baby and I simply cannot spend more than two days apart from it. Hell, it breaks my heart to leave Ferd just to go eat dinner. He has been wallpapered in band stickers for so long now I can barely remember what color he was when we bought him (he was silver… I could never _truly_ forget). But enough about my creepy Ferdinand love, let's see if I can find the point.

"Sing me a song, Al."

"Mmnuhhh."

"Come on! I only got to hear you sing once before, and you had to go and kick me in the bloody shin for hours, just because I wanted to hear you belt out a few notes."

"I thought you were a rapist! Who else would hide in a girl's closet muttering 'That's right… keep singing pretty. Mwahahahahahaha.'?"

"So you always give the rapists in your closet 72 kicks to the shin?"

"Nah, you've always been that special rapist for me, Jackie Wackie Poo Poo Boo Boo Biscuit Darling."

"Shut your skankhole and sing for me!"

"Nuh uh girlfriend."

"Allie Francesca Cleveland!" Jack stood up furiously. I did some sort of freaky contortionist tumble backwards off my bed and stood to meet him in the midst of my messy floor.

"Jack Margaret Dawson!"

Jack looked mortified. "Your mum said Margaret is a very common and masculine middle name in Japan!"

I sighed and sank to the floor cross-legged. "Hate to break it to you, Jackie, but Mum loves you. She'd tell you swiss cheese could be made from pocket lint if she thought it would make you happy." I began plucking Ferd's strings again, and Jack huffily admitted defeat. He should not have been surprised by the outcome of our little skirmish. I sang for no one. It was just common knowledge.

"You have a crazy good voice, Allie."

"Thanks stalker, but still no singy singy for you."

"You're gonna sing for me someday," Jack said happily. I rolled my eyes. The kid just couldn't take a hint.

"Allie! Get into this room for dinner now or I'm taking Ferdinand away for a week!"

"What? MUM NOOOOOOO! Jackie, away we go!" I jumped on his back and pushed him with all my might so he ran full force down the hallway into my small kitchen. Once we entered the room he promptly let go of my legs so I fell with a shriek to the tile floor. Ignoring this, I crawled over to my mum's legs and wrapped myself around them. Then I looked up at her pathetically and whimpered, "Mummy please don't take Ferd away. He didn't do anything."

Mum just gave me an incredulous look and an eye roll before turning to Jack and saying, "Staying for dinner sweetheart?" I stayed where I was on the floor, and started making kissy faces at him and mouthing _'She loves you Jackie Poo'_.

But after I looked at Jack properly, I realized something was wrong with him. Throughout the whole duration of eating he would chew for a couple seconds, pause, grimace, and start eating again. Mum thought he simply wasn't a fan of meatloaf (who is? honestly), but I knew what was really going on. I couldn't believe it happened again.

"Thanks for the meatloaf, Mrs. Cleveland, it was phenomenal," said Jack with an over exaggerated wink, once we had finished eating. Mum beamed and I couldn't hold it in any longer. "BOM CHICKA WAH WAHHHH!" I yelled at the top of my lungs (A/N: hopefully you have all seen that commercial or else your gonna think I'm a crazy girl). Then I bolted out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the door of me and mum's small one-story house, onto the street. Jack was following at record pace so I stopped abruptly and heard him skid to a halt behind me, swearing loudly. I chuckled, but stayed turned away from him.

"How about you stop making it seem like I want your mum in bed!" he exclaimed, obviously peeved at me.

I remained facing away from him and spoke softly, my voice reflecting the hurt I was feeling, "How about you keep your promise and tell me when you're hurt like you're supposed to?"

I could hear Jackie's shallow breathing behind me, and I knew I had thrown him off guard. So I simply held out my hand, and we began to walk.

"I wanted to tell you, but this time wasn't so bad, I swear," Jackie began quietly as we walked down the road to the small park that was located at the dead end of my street. "He was in an awful mood because he got a speeding ticket last night. So he came home and… well, yeah."

"What did he use this time?"

"Belt. Hurt like hell, but now it's just turned to a few bruises on my back. They kill when you touch them though. That's partially why I flung you off of me in your kitchen. That, and I love to see you grovel about Ferd to your mum."

"Bastard! What did he do to your mouth?"

"What?"

"Your mouth, pratty cakes, your mouth. I know he did something to it, you looked like a constipated cow chewing on grass tonight at dinner."

Jack stopped, letting go of my hand in the process. I whirled around to see him prodding at his face, trying to remember what exactly he had done to earn the injury from his father. All of a sudden his face brightened and he straightened up; he looked uncharacteristically chipper, considering we were on the subject of his incredibly shitty home life.

"Oh yeah, that was great," Jackie said reminiscently with a smirk, "Dad had just finished lecturing me about how I was a mistake and he wished I could just stay out of trouble and out his life. Yeah, I know, what a classy guy," he said in response to my raised eyebrows and low whistle of surprise. "Well anyway, he just had me feeling so pissed that I walked right up to him and said, 'Wow dad, I'm glad you're not taking your anger out on me for no apparent reason or anything. I mean, honestly, it's obviously all my fault that you drive like a fucking speed demon.' It felt so good to say… well, up until he punched me in the jaw, that is."

I cringed and turned away. How could he always be so indifferent about these things? Just hearing that story made me want to walk up to Mr. Dawson and beat him senseless. I wanted to keep talking about this with Jack, but I knew that wasn't what he needed right now.

Instead I took off running until I made it to the park, where I sat on a swing and began pumping my legs furiously until I was soaring about as high as I could go without flipping over the top. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jack right next to me, pumping just as hard as I was,with a determined look on his face. We were swinging like this for different reasons: I was just trying to get rid of some of my anger. It just wasn't right for the boy swinging next to me, the funniest (and dumbest, but that's not the point) kid I know, to be afraid to go home. Jackie was doing it because, to put it simply, he was wishing that he could be free. I know the childish part of him was hoping that the swing chain would break and he would be launched to some faraway planet where aliens would take care of him and kiss him goodnight, treating him like the human being he was.

"One, two, three," I murmured. We pushed off of the cold swings and flew in the air. And for that brief moment, I was Jack, and I was flying away from all of the evils in my life. We landed in the dirt and I scrambled to my feet. "I won that time!"

We had been doing this for close to two months now, ever since I found out...

_It was late, around midnight. I was sitting at my desk, attempting to write a song. I have been trying, and failing abysmally, to write a song since about grade six. Then I heard what sounded like a dying bird screeching outside my window. This had been me and Jack's signal for about two years now. I rolled my eyes and walked over to my window, unlatching it and sticking my head out into the comfortable August breeze. "Jackie?"  
_

"_Er, nope, it's actually… ah screw it. You need to let me in," came Jack's hushed reply._

"_Maybe I don't want your creepy ass in my house at this odd hour of the night! Although, if you could help me with this blasted song…"_

"_Fuck! Allie, let me in! I'm serious!" His voice was definitely strained, and he was freaked about something._

"_I'm coming right now. Don't move Jack it's ok." I bolted out of my house (Mum is quite the heavy sleeper) and around the side to the tree that was just outside of my window. I gasped as I came close enough to see Jackie. He was hunched over, clutching his stomach in pain and putting all of his weight on the tree trunk. I placed my hand on his shoulder and he jumped about two feet in the air. I watched him with wide eyes and when he finally turned to me, making eye contact for the first time, I felt like I was going to be sick. His left eye was swollen shut and the skin around it was already beginning to bruise. He had a fat lip, and there was a small gash on his cheek._

_I wordlessly draped his arm around my shoulders and helped him inside. When we made it back into my room, I helped him lie down in my bed, and sank down to the ground, leaning against the bed frame. Jack distractedly played with my hair, and after a while his breathing evened out, and I knew he would be sleeping for a few hours at least. So I went back to writing my masterpiece… well, it was actually more like staring at Ferdinand for two hours while wondering what the hell happened to my best friend. _

_Jack woke up with a groan at about three in the morning and I was instantly by his side. He took one look at me and burst into loud, uncontrollable sobs. I was stunned into silence; Jack had _never _cried in front of me before, at least not since we were six. I pulled him to me in an airtight hug while he whispered into my hair the truth that he had been hiding from me for so long now. My tears mixed with his as we sat on my bedspread with Jack clinging to me like I was the last thing keeping him alive. _

"_What did I do to deserve this?" he whispered miserably into my curls. I stroked his hair for comfort while he broke down into a fresh fit of weeping._

When things got to be so overwhelming that we couldn't handle it we would swing, and then see who jumped off higher when we were done. Jack almost always won, but that didn't really bother me. Jackie, on the other hand, had his manly pride at stake (most of which I had chipped away because I call him "Jackie" so much), and absolutely detested it when I won. "Are you insane? I am so much more aerodynamic than you, and you are the shittiest jumper I have ever met. I am clearly the victor, yet again."

"Hostility, Jackie!" I said, looking scandalized. "You lost. You suck. I dominate. Is today Sunday?"

"First of all, you're a super freak. Second of all, yes it's Sunday. Why, did we break a rule, swinging on the Sabbath or something?"

"Har har. Wanna spend the night?"

Jack nodded casually, but I could tell how thankful he was to not be going home. We began walking back, mostly silent, when I heard him announce quietly, "You're really lucky, you know."

I sighed, knowing he meant I was lucky to have a loving family. Well, a loving mother, I guess. I've never even known who my dad was; he walked out when Mum told him she had a bundle of joy coming along that wasn't from the post office (well, she didn't technically say it like _that_). But I'm fine with that. I don't need someone in my life that doesn't have enough guts to face his problems and make a good life for his family. Mum works all the time at her law agency and it sucks, but I know she's doing it all for me. And having someone that loves me enough to work that hard all the time makes me feel like Jack must be right; I'm more fortunate than I can even comprehend.

xx

October was finally here. Fall was in its prime, and so was I. Fall is my absolute favorite season, even though it symbolizes two things I hate in life: returning to a shithole education and raking leaves until my hands are blistered beyond recognition. I was sitting propped against the tree on the side of my house, playing Ferdinand and singing quietly (nobody was around to hear me… except perhaps a random squirrel or two) when the window opened and Mum's hand snaked out, dropping my cell phone into the grass. Jack was calling me.

"Ah, it's my favorite freak!" I exclaimed with joy.

"Love you too, Al. Wanna chill tonight?"

"Surely Jackie Poo, your house or mine?"

"Is that a serious question?"

"Right. My house it is. Come over at seven sharp, or else I'm gonna make you eat my mum's pantyhose."

"Goodbye, you twisted prat."

"Love you too, Jackie."

xx

Seven rolled around: no Jack of course. That son of a bitch loves to keep me waiting for him. Seven thirty and still no sign of him. Once eight o'clock came around, I knew. Something was happening. I needed to see for myself that he was alright, so I shoved my Chuck Taylor's on my feet and took off running.

The Dawsons' house is about five minutes by car, but I was running so fast that I arrived there in less than ten.

But now that I had made it to the house, I realized I had absolutely no plan. I couldn't exactly waltz in the front door yelling, "Hey Jackie! How bad did Daddykins beat you this time?"

So I ran to the back of the house, which was covered in vines (it's one of those cool old-fashioned homes), and began to climb. I tried looking in the windows, but the curtains were all drawn. Swearing, I began the descent down the weeds. When I was about five feet from the ground, I heard a scream coming from the front of the house. I freaked and fell onto the grass, but I quickly pushed myself up and sprinted around to the front door. I easily recognized the voice; Jack was being hurt in there. I needed to get in.

I stood outside, trying to calm my racing heart. Another yelp of pain and I threw all caution to the wind. I picked up the welcome mat and flung it aside, grabbed the hidden key and hastily shoved it into the keyhole. The lock clicked and I quietly opened the door.

The first room of Jack's house is the parlor. Normally I would walk in and stare at it in awe, with its glossy polished furniture and flowery drapes. But now when I saw the space before me, I had to hold onto the door frame for support. Nearly every piece of furniture was knocked over, one of the curtains was ripped off of its hangings and, to my horror, I saw a set of bloody handprints on the wall. Petrified beyond words, I slowly crept my way into the next room.

One glance into the living room and I shot across the room like a rocket and fell to my knees, no longer worrying about being heard. Jack was facedown on the carpet, clearly unconscious. I flipped him over and let out a gasp. Blood was seeping copiously from his left shoulder and slightly trickling out of the corner of his mouth. His neck had bruises that were obviously from his father's attempt to throttle him.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Alright Jackie, I'm getting you out of here right now," I muttered frantically to my best friend's unconscious and battered body. I grabbed him around his middle because it seemed the only place that wouldn't hurt on his body.

Jack was too heavy for me to lift, so I sat on the ground, dug my heels into the floor as hard as I possibly could, and began sliding backwards rapidly out of the room, pulling Jack along with me. Right at the entrance to the living room, I collided into something solid and froze. I held my breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and prayed with all my might I hadn't just hit what I thought I did.

"Long time no see, Allie."

Trembling uncontrollably, I turned slowly and stared up into the livid face of Mr. Dawson.


	3. Which is Rather Violent

**Just a Warning: **I'm sorry; this chapter does get rather violent.

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**Chapter 3: Which is Rather Violent**

"M-M-M-Mr. Dawson," I gulped frantically. Where had all the air in the room gone? Jack's father was now looking down at me; the anger coursing through his veins was masked everywhere except for his eyes. They blazed with a fury the likes of which I had never seen; I still have nightmares about the rage settled in those pupils.

"May I ask why you are barging into my house, especially after dark?" his voice questioned, calm and controlled.

I couldn't believe my ears. Was he seriously going to stand there and act like he hadn't just beaten Jack to the point of unconsciousness? I stood slowly, and brushed my hair out of my face. My eyes blazed into Mr. Dawson's; I remember vaguely wishing I could melt his face with my glare (sadly, I was never graced with laser vision).

"I was worried about my friend. Unlike you, _sir_," I spat the words at him in contempt, "I happen to care about Jack."

He didn't blink. "It is none of your business how I handle my son. He deserves everything I give him."

"You're killing your own flesh and blood!" I shouted in his face furiously. "Look at him! You did this! How can you stand there knowing you harmed someone you gave life to!? You're a sad excuse for a father, and I'm sorry Jack has to put up with you!"

As if on cue, Jack made a pitiful groan from his position on the floor. I broke my eye contact and took a worried glimpse at my friend. "Don't worry, Jackie, I'm getting you out of here," I said quietly to him. "You're bastard of a father isn't going to hurt you anymore."

"Al?" Jack questioned. His voice was without a doubt the weakest I have ever heard it before.

I bent down to reassure him of my presence when I felt a strong hand clamp around my throat and lift me off the ground. Mr. Dawson had obviously decided to drop the act. I gasped desperately for air while he pinned me to a wall.

"You are not taking my son anywhere," he snarled at me.

I intended to reply, but the lack of air was forcing me to just focus on staying conscious. Over Jack's father's shoulders I saw Jack slowly trying to stand. He was leaning heavily on an armchair with his good arm and I felt sick to my stomach when I saw him slip in his own blood and fall back to the floor.

I looked back at Mr. Dawson, who was patting his pockets looking for something; his grip on my throat had, if possible, only gotten stronger. I mustered all the strength I could and kneed him between the legs as hard as possible. He let out a surprised grunt while he dropped his hands and I slid to the floor. I closed my eyes for a brief second and massaged my neck, taking a few deep breaths.

When I opened my eyes, I found that Mr. Dawson had noticed Jack's attempts to stand. He kicked Jack in the ribs, and Jack fell with a moan of anguish, curling into a ball. My heart was pounding as my mind worked in overdrive; how could I get him to leave Jack alone? Better yet, how would I get Jack to a hospital? The closest one was Good Shepherd Hospital, and that was 10 miles away.

I decided to think on my feet. Anything was better than watching Jackie continue to suffer. So I stood up and walked across the room, and managed to squeak out, "I'm going to the police!"

I heard a frustrated growl behind me and a second later something shiny flew past my head and stuck into the wall. I gasped when I realized what it was: a dagger. I guess Mr. Dawson had found what he had been searching for in his pocket. The worst part was that it was already gleaming red. I knew it was Jack's blood. He had been stabbed by his own father.

Before I could wrap my mind around this I felt hot breathing on the back of my neck. "Come with me, tramp."

After pulling the dagger out of the wall like a pirate would a sword from his sheath, Jack's father grabbed my hair and pulled me along, through the parlor and out the front door which I had left open. He dragged me around the side of the residence near the edge of a wooded area that surrounded the Dawson home. I stumbled over my own feet, trying my damnedest not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall.

I could feel a trickle of blood making its way down the side of my face that let me know Mr. Dawson had pulled out a clump of my hair. When we reached the shelter of the forest he threw me onto the muddy ground. It had started to rain while we were inside. He stood over me, the partially concealed moonlight making his eyes gleam with a vengeance that shook me to the core. Water droplets seeped through my clothes and as I stared up at him, I knew: he was going to kill me.

I screamed shrilly before he raised his muddy boot and kicked me square in the face; I felt my nose break and blood began gushing all over. Then he leaned down and muttered into my ear, "I'm afraid I have no choice but this, Allie Cleveland. You deserve it. It's too bad you don't know how to mind your own business. This whole situation could have been avoided. Now I'm sorry to say I only have one option to make sure you don't go talking about this to anyone."

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, but the contempt I felt for that man was so great that I spat in his face and said, "I'd like to see you try."

Mr. Dawson took the dagger in his hands and placed it just above my stomach. I shut my eyes and braced myself for the pain; instead, I heard the ripping of material and felt a piece of my shirt being tied around my mouth. This made it very near impossible to breathe, as blood was still seeping from my nose.

Next he used the knife to cut right through my jean shorts. The realization hit me that he wanted to do something emotionally scarring before he killed me altogether. I stared at him in shock and disgust while he slid the shorts off my body, a crazed look in his eyes.

Just as Jack's father was reaching to undo the belt of his own pants, a glass vase was hurled at his head, and he fell to the ground next to me, moaning in agony. A few of the pieces had landed in my leg as well, but I ignored the stinging as I scurried to my feet and ripped the gag out of my mouth.

Jack stepped out from behind a nearby tree. I let out a cry of elation that he was alright and embraced him, being careful not to hurt him further. Jack mumbled something incoherent and he looked like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He was sickeningly pale and, shockingly enough, his shoulder wound was still bleeding profusely. I grabbed his good arm and wrapped it around my shoulders to help him limp through the branches so we could make our escape. It appeared that Jack had also twisted his ankle, and I shuddered when I thought of other injuries I hadn't discovered yet.

Just when we reached Jack's yard and headed towards the safe haven of the main road as quickly as possible, Mr. Dawson came stumbling out of the woods in a blind frenzy. Jack stopped and paled even more, if it was possible. I tried to drag him along so we could keep moving, but he was paralyzed in his fear.

Jack's father spotted us and began charging towards us, brandishing the knife and uttering a cry that didn't even sound human. I let go of Jack and stepped in front of him, with my arms spread wide. Jack wasn't going to get hurt anymore tonight; at least not while I was still alive.

The frenzied man was now a few yards away and I began shaking when I realized me and my best friend were about to die. More than anything, I wished I had said goodbye to my mother.

_Mum._ Just thinking about my mother made me realize I needed to beat Mr. Dawson. Without me, my mother would be totally alone, and I couldn't even imagine what she would do when she found out what happened to me. So when Mr. Dawson reached Jack and me, I took a defiant step away from him to steady myself so I was ready to fight tooth and nail until the end.

Unfortunately, I didn't realize that Jack had sunk to the ground in pain and fatigue, so when I stepped backwards, I tripped on his body and was flung backwards. Jack's father was so close, and his menacing eyes were now looking at his son with bloodlust, so I did the first thing I could think of: I flung myself over Jack's trembling body.

I met Mr. Dawson's eye and he gave me a sickening smile before raising his arm into the air, ready to kill. I never broke eye contact. The fury was pulsing in me so strongly now that I was shaking in defiance. However, on impulse, as he swung his arm down with vigor I shut my eyes and lowered my head. I braced myself for a fatal blow; to my amazement, it never came.

I looked up. There was no way Mr. Dawson had wimped out; I had already seen the hideous things he had done to his own son. As I raised my head, my jaw dropped at what was happening before me. Mr. Dawson had retreated several paces, and he was looking at me in horror. I looked down and gasped; what was happening to me?!

A golden light was radiating off my skin, and I felt a surge of power coming from within me. A gust of wind blew my hair away from my face and the golden radiance was forming a dome over Jack and me, impenetrable by Jack's father. The power was still building up inside of me. I didn't know what was happening, but I sure as hell was going to use whatever it was to save us.

Mr. Dawson let out a roar of rage and hurtled himself towards the makeshift force field I had unconsciously created. I focused all the mysterious power I felt building inside of me on him and when he was close enough to me, I set it loose with a roar of fury. I saw a golden beam fly out from the force field and shoot directly into Mr. Dawson's chest. He was thrown over 20 feet backwards, where he hit a tree and fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

My breathing was shallow as I tried to collect myself and comprehend what type of miracle had just occurred. I felt a rush of breezy October air as the golden dome dissolved. "Thank you," I whispered to whatever had saved our lives.

"What… the… bloody… Hell…," was all Jack could manage to groan from the ground. Feeling a new indefinable rush of adrenaline, I bent down and helped Jack rise to his feet.

As I wrapped his arm around my shoulder once more I said, "Well, as enjoyable as this little party was tonight, I feel we have really overstayed our welcome. Let's get out of here."

Jack was looking back uneasily at the place where his father had fallen. "Don't worry," I assured him, "he's just unconscious."

"Too bad," Jack muttered bitterly.

Unsure of what to say next, I simply began to walk slowly, acting as a crutch for Jack's injuries. When we reached the main road, I was at a loss for what our next course of action should be.

"You really need a hospital, Jackie," I said, examining his visible wounds. His shirt was drenched with blood and he was so pale his lips were now blue. The bruises were showing clearly on his body. We were both soaked with the rainfall. His voice shook as he confirmed my statement.

And so, we walked. I was ashamed because I had lost my shorts to that bastard. I took off my sweatshirt and tied it around my waist, but that didn't help my dignity. I felt filthy; just thinking about what had almost happened in the woods made me cringe and caused my eyes to fill with tears. I felt overwhelmingly grateful to Jack for sparing me that kind of torture and humiliation.

Every so often, we were forced to pause while Jack collected some breath. My worry increased; we were still so far away, and he was steadily getting worse and worse. I vaguely wondered what time it was.

After walking for about an hour, Jack collapsed to the ground. I let out a cry and sank beside him. He began convulsing and I watched helplessly in horror. I held his hand and when it was over, I stroked his hair and rubbed his arms in a bleak attempt to warm him. His eyes kept drifting shut; that scared me more than anything. I took his face in my hands and shook it back and forth gently. "You've got to keep your eyes open, okay Jackie?" my voice quivered as I said it. He moaned in agony and my heart shattered.

We sat there for a long while. I was praying that a car would drive by, while cursing the fact that Jack lived on such a private street. After a time, Jack became delusional.

"Hey Al, remember that time you made me eat dog poop in the sandbox?"

"Of course I do, Jackie, it's the day we became best friends."

"That was the nastiest poop I've ever eaten. Hehehehee… poopie poopie poop…" In any other situation I would have burst out laughing at the nonsense coming out of his mouth, but now it scared me out of my wits.

"NO! DAD! STOP HURTING ME! NOOOOOOO!" Jack suddenly began howling in excruciating agony. I looked up at him to see his eyes were closed. Panicking, I slapped him across the face and his eyes shot open. His eyes were circled by the darkest rings I had ever seen in my life and the blue tint of his lips had now spread to his skin.

"Jackie, come on, we're gonna go to the hospital now, okay?"

"Aren't we walking already?" came the confused reply. I wanted to cry.

I reached over to drag him to his feet when his hand gently grabbed my arm. I looked him in the eyes and he gave me a peaceful smile. "Al, thanks for being my guardian angel. I love you," he said faintly, squeezing my arm. I choked back a sob and managed to say, "I love you too, Jackie. So much. Now can we please stand so I can get you to safety?"

But his eyes were already shut.

Panicking, I stood with a shriek. I turned and started running blindly down the street. I needed a car to drive by and save us from this nightmare. I was running so fast, but I couldn't see anything at all. My right foot sank into a puddle and I was sent sprawling to the ground. The wind was knocked out of me, but I stood quickly. I felt so dizzy, and lights came to my eyes. As I sank to my knees again I thought I saw a woman's face before my eyes.

"Jackie…" I said miserably, before I succumbed to unconsciousness.

xx

When I opened my eyes, I saw a lot of white. Then a man's face appeared over my head. I screamed and flailed my arms at him, thinking for one wild moment that it was Mr. Dawson. I quickly realized that it was a doctor.

_Hospital… finally._

I looked to my left and saw my mother dozing in a chair. "Mum…" I said with all the strength I could muster.

Her eyes opened and within two seconds she had me suffocated in an embrace. She was crying into my hair.

"Oh thank God." She kept moaning in relief.

"How's Jackie?" I questioned. Any other conversation could wait. Right now I needed to know how my best friend was doing. At this my mother stiffened and pulled away from me. Her eyes were bloodshot and I could see the answer written clear across her face. Dread jolted through me and I was instantly on my feet.

"Where is he!?" I questioned frantically.

"Emergency ward," my mother answered quietly.

I hurtled myself out the door. My hospital gown was flying around me and I was barefoot, but I didn't give it a second thought. I shook the nearest nurse I could find and ordered she take me to the emergency ward. The frightened nurse quickly led me up a flight of stairs and through a pair of swinging doors.

I hysterically ran up and down the corridor until I found the door with Jack's name on it. I could hear the nurse shouting that I couldn't go inside, but I flung the door open and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw what was going on.

A doctor was sadly shaking his head while a nurse slowly brought a white sheet over the head of my best friend. Silently, I walked over to the bed and sank to my knees. I stared at the sheet. Nothing else existed. My world was crumbling away. I shook off the hand that was on my shoulder and removed the white cover, revealing Jackie's head.

His face, which had always been so attractive, was ashy and blank. His eyes were shut peacefully. All I could do was stare as my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I felt something wet dripping onto my gown and I vaguely acknowledged it as my own hot tears. I felt someone pick me up and carry me away. I felt my mother lift me out of the car and place me on my bed, caressing my face and kissing my cheek before she left me alone. I couldn't stop staring at the nothingness around me; my mind was blank as all I could see was that ashy, lifeless face.

From my desk I heard a strange buzzing sound. I followed the noise as if I were in a trance and was surprised to see my cell phone as the source. I opened it slowly and my heart began pounding wildly. It was a text message from Jack.

_Hey Al. Dad got fired tonight and he's madder than I've ever seen him before. Wonder whose gonna get blamed for it? Ha. Sorry, don't think I can make it tonight. Wish me luck._

Emotions swarmed and rushed back into my body at such an alarming rate that I nearly fell over. I hurled the phone away from me with shaking hands and was satisfied when I saw that it hit the wall and burst into pieces.

Then I promptly sank to the floor and buried my head in my hands while the truth sank in, loud and clear.

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**Please review.**


	4. Losing It

**Chapter 4: Losing It**

I woke up the next day in a delirious Hell. Mum walked into my room and found me sleeping heaped in a mess on the floor, clutching Ferdinand to my body like a lifeline. She touched my arm lightly with her hand and my eyes shot open.

"Late for school again!?" I screeched, more to myself than to her, "Mrs. Hollohan's gonna kill me!"

"Honey, Mrs. Hollohan was your teacher last year," Mum replied cautiously, "and it's Saturday. No School."

I kicked my way through my mound of clothes on the floor and haphazardly flung open my closet door, where I picked up one of my Chuck Taylor's by the laces. "Really? Well then I'm probably gonna head over to Jackie's later if you don't mind." I wiggled my way under my bed and pulled out the other worn-out shoe, holding it like a trophy and smiling triumphantly at my mother.

My face fell slightly as I looked at Mum and saw her eyes brimming with tears. "Al…" she whispered in anguish, her voice cracking.

I gave her a puzzled look. What was with her this morning?

As if she had read my mind, she swiftly and silently raised her arm and touched her hand to her nose. I mimicked her actions and was startled to find wrapping on it. I jumped up and hurried into the tiny bathroom me and my mum shared and looked quizzically at myself in the round mirror above the sink. The wrappings were bandages, and at the same time, reminders. Seeing my broken nose was like the breaking of a dam, and the new flood of emotions was overwhelming. It was as though I could feel his boot kicking me in the face repeatedly, taunting my failures as a friend.

I trudged back into my room, where my mom was sitting silently , trying to control her sniffling. I grabbed Ferdinand and muttered miserably to my floor rather than her, "I'll be outside." I stayed out there long after the sun had set, playing sad songs of my own creation.

The next few days I was a recluse to the point where I didn't even want to leave my room to go to the bathroom. This type of agony was beyond tears. It was the type you felt in the pit of your stomach, the type that made you nauseous, even though you hadn't eaten for days. I was tempted to rip the bandages off of my nose, as all they did was constantly remind me of how I wasn't quick enough in saving him.

The Tuesday after Jack was gone was his viewing. I didn't go. I had viewed him quite well enough in the hospital room on Friday. However, the next day was Jack's funeral, and it would be insulting to his memory to skip out just because I was feeling… too much.

I probably got about an hour of sleep that night total. I fell asleep wherever those days, and I was not surprised that this time it had been under my shag rug and on top of my Coldplay CD. It was about four in the morning, but I knew sleep was not going to wash over me again- I actually felt quite fortunate that I was able to fall asleep at all.

So instead of lying there, I got up and took a shower: my first in days. I stayed in there for an hour, letting the steam soak over me. I washed my hair carefully and brushed it thoroughly when it was still damp after I got out. I put fresh bandages on my nose. I needed to look my best today; it was my last day in the bodily presence of my best friend, after all.

I walked back into my room and pulled out a simple black dress. It had flowing short sleeves that would not suffice in the chilled weather so I shrugged on a black cardigan. I tiptoed into my mother's room and slipped on a pair of her black flats as well. When I was walking back into my room, I saw a bright color out of the corner of my eye. I strode over to my dresser and saw… the turquoise headband I had given Jackie in the sixth grade. I held it gingerly in my hands, and without a thought, slipped it onto my head.

I think Mum was surprised and relieved to see me ready to go at eight o'clock. The car ride was far too short for me to mentally prepare to walk in there and face everyone. I felt sweat on my hands and trembling in my kneecaps as I slammed my door shut and walked timidly up the steps of the cathedral where the funeral eulogy was being given.

My nausea was forgotten for a brief moment as I took in the beauty of the church. There were statues of marble and stained glass windows everywhere. The benches where stained a deep glossy mahogany.

The most moving thing about this room at the moment to me, however, was the sheer number of people inside it. Every bench was full of people; many I recognized from school, while some I could vaguely recall as distant family members Jack was never too fond of. My mother grabbed my wrist lightly and I followed her to the front of the church. As we went, I saw schoolmates and teachers. They all looked sad for me as I walked by them: the empathy was overwhelming, but didn't do much for my nerves.

And as we reached the first pew, I saw the object of my anxiety sitting with his wife. His face was in his hands. Mrs. Dawson turned and saw me walking with Mum; she removed her purse from the seat next to her and motioned politely for us to come sit with them. I was touched that Jack's mum had considered us Jackie's family as well. As I sat next to her, I chanced glances at Mr. Dawson. His head was in his hands for nearly the whole ceremony.

When Mrs. Dawson went up to give a heart wrenching speech about her son, everyone in the room was in tears. I hadn't cried yet, a feat I was surprised and slightly proud of. When Jack's mum finished speaking, I took a look around at all the people and was amazed to see, a few rows back, Mrs. Hollohan. She was crying freely into her handkerchief, while an elderly man that had to be her husband rubbed her back soothingly. She looked up and caught my eye. She brought up one wrinkly hand to her hair, in reference to the headband I was wearing, and gave me a watery smile.

Mrs. Hollohan's presence could have been what finally set me off. The rest of the funeral was seen through a blurry confusion of tears, and when the Dawson family, my mum, and myself processed out behind Jack's casket, I needed to be held up by Jack's uncle.

While we stood out on the steps of the church, people I didn't even know consoled _me _for the loss. It was moving, and made me fall into fresh fits of weeping every time. Mrs. Hollohan gave me the biggest hug of all and whispered, "He's still in all of us," into my ear. I cried, hunched over on her shoulder.

Before my mum and I left the church, I hugged every member of the Dawson family. I clenched on tightly to Mrs. Dawson and muttered, "Be safe," in her ear. I don't think she realized I was referring to her homicidal husband, though.

When I reached Mr. Dawson, he was the one who pulled me into an embrace. I stiffened immediately and held my hands at my sides. Then he said, so quietly I had to strain to hear, "If you tell anyone what happened that night, I'll come to your house and kill your mother. Then, I'll kill you."

I tried my best not to tremble as I replied, just as quietly, "I'd like to see you try."

He laughed softly and firmly pushed me away from him. Nobody noticed. "Remember what I said, Allie," he said in a much louder voice, trying his best to sound sad.

I stared at his dry, cold eyes with my watery grief-stricken ones before taking my mother's hand and leading her back to our car.

That night was plagued with sorrow that would not ebb away, and now a new fear that Jack's father could be prowling around my house intensified my ability to not be able to sleep. _I can't tell anyone what really happened to Jackie_, I thought to myself. _He'll kill my mother. And me. _But another voice reasoned, just as strongly, _He killed your best friend. Someone needs to know. _I could no longer lie there, so I grabbed Ferdinand and marched boldly out the door (I made sure it was locked first, so as to keep my mother safe).

I had no idea where I was going, but at the same time, I knew where I'd end up. I walked to the dead end of my road, where the park was, and sat down on my usual cold metal swing. I had no energy to pump my legs, however, so I sat there sadly, in full awareness of the empty swing next to me.

I launched myself off the unmoving swing and ran to the edge of the woods surrounding the park. There was a small cemetery here, and I knew that this is where Mrs. Dawson would have insisted on burying Jack. I quickly spotted the tombstone that looked the newest and made my way over. My stomach dropped for a brief moment when I realized: it really was his grave. I knelt on the new earth, and traced the words on the headstone with my fingers.

Jack M. Dawson  
April 13, 1960 – October 3, 1975

_We hope you're watching from above,  
as below our hearts still burn for you with love._

I sighed deeply, and pulled something out of my pocket. It was the plastic tiara I had gotten, months ago now. I used my hands to dig a hole in the dirt, and put the crown in there, before covering it back up. I sat back on my heels and sighed again, and I said to the marble stone, "You can have that, Jack. I just don't feel quite as badass without you here."

Then I stood, and put my guitar strap over my shoulder. Clutching Ferd in my hands, I slowly began to strum to a tune I had been playing for ages; now that the lyrics hit home, I hadn't been able to play it for days.

I took a deep breath and began to sing- my voice quivering with unnecessary fear. The sound seemed to echo into the deserted park, but for once I did not care about being heard.

_When winter falls next year, I'll be holding on to anything nailed down.  
__As for being patient, with fate and all  
__it's getting old, and my mind is slowly changing.  
__I'm calling all my oldest friends, saying, "Sorry for this mess we're in"  
__and I'm waiting, waiting  
__for the sun to come and melt this snow, wash away the pain  
__and give me back control, control._

_An angel got his wings and we'll hold our heads up, knowing that he's fine.  
__We'd all be lucky to have a love like that in a lifetime._

_Should we still set his place? Should we still save his chair?  
__Should we still buy him gifts, and if we don't, did we not care?  
__It makes you think about the life you've led, the shit you've done, things you've said  
__and it's grounding, grounding.  
__I've been feeling three feet tall this month, hardly indestructible  
__but the snow melts, and the rhythm still goes on._

_An angel got his wings and we'll hold our heads up, knowing that he's fine.  
__We'd all be lucky to have a love like that in a lifetime.  
__Friends stay side by side; in life and death, you've always stole my heart.  
__You'll always mean so much to me it's hard to believe this._

_These nights in vans, these nights in bars  
__don't mean a thing with empty hearts, with empty hearts._

_An angel got his wings and we'll hold our heads up, knowing that he's fine.  
__We'd all be lucky to have a love like that in a lifetime.  
__Friends stay side by side; in life and death, you've always stole my heart.  
__You've always meant so much to me, it's hard to believe  
__so much to me it's hard to believe,  
__so much to me, it's hard to believe this._

The moment I uttered the first word of my ode to Jack, the tears began their inevitable descent down my face. They started off slow, but moroseness quickly spread through every pore of my body. Every muscle, every tissue, every bone felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside out. When the song was over, I was on my hands and knees, struggling to control the despair that was making me slightly dizzy. I could taste the tears on my lips. Wiping my eyes and standing on shaky legs, I made one last attempt to catch my breath. I needed to keep myself in check or I would lose it completely.

"Hear that one, Jack?" I whispered into the crisp October night, "You finally got your song." The only response I got was an increase in the blustery midnight chill.

And as I stood gazing down at my best friend's tombstone, surrounded by fresh earth and flowers, I came to an earth-shattering conclusion. While the wind whipped my messy hair so it stuck to my tear-stained face and I shivered, sniffling in my sweatshirt and thin pajama pants, I realized that I was a shell: I didn't feel human, not anymore. Surely my soul had floated off somewhere with Jack's, where they were happily bantering or plotting to steal some dead demon teacher's precious maps. Well, I need to be human, Jack. I still need to feel.

And that is when I lost it. Full-throttle, point of no return, lost it.

I flung myself to the ground and frantically began clawing at the newly laid dirt. "Give it back! I need to feel! GIVE ME BACK SOME FEELING!" I was in a frenzy that nothing could have pulled me out of. I tore at whatever I could get my hands on for a couple minutes (it could have been a couple hours; time was irrelevant to me). Finally, I hurled myself spread-eagle to the ground, where I promptly curled up into a ball, rocking back and forth endlessly. I was weeping pitifully, holding onto Ferdinand for dear life. What I needed more than anything was for my best friend to pop out from the dirt, laughing and taunting me relentlessly for being such a blubbery girly girl.

"I sang for you… isn't that enough? Come back, come back, come back…," I moaned repeatedly while hiccupping and choking on the saliva that had built up in my mouth. My face was drenched and the wind felt like needles pricking at my cheeks.

I fell asleep, huddled and shivering in a ball at the foot of Jack's grave, just before dawn broke through the trees. Ferdinand was by my side and a place in my heart was undeniably empty. With one last pitiful sob, I drifted away to a short and restless sleep, haunted by sights and sounds that were still fresh in my memory and could not be forgotten in slumber.

xx

"Mommy, what's the matter with that girl over there?"

My eyes opened a fraction of an inch; I saw a young boy with his mother. His face was round and pudgy and he had curly golden hair that shot out all over. I stayed where I was and simply stared at the boy for a long time. I wondered what it would be like to be him; what were his biggest worries? Probably me, at the moment: God only knows how scary I must have looked. When he went home, would it be to a place where love was a constant? I looked at that little boy and hoped with all my might that he was happy.

He warily walked over to me and crouched down, whispering, "Are you a zombie?" I was shocked to find my lips twitching in an almost smile.

"Timmy!" The boy's mother came rushing over and grabbed his hand- she had been busy watching over a stroller with a small baby inside. She dragged him away and began scolding him. They got back on the sidewalk and continued on their way to wherever they were going.

As he was being dragged away, Timmy turned around and waved to me. It was a small and cautious wave as he was obviously was still unsure of whether or not I was a member of the walking dead, but my heart swelled with affection for him nonetheless.

When he left my sight, I felt inexplicably alone. I slowly took a deep breath and pushed myself up to standing position. My body was practically screaming in protest of moving: it had not taken a liking to the past few days' sleeping arrangements. I looked down to stretch my stiff legs and was taken aback for a moment when I realized I had been barefooted all night.

It was a long, solemn trudge home. I opened the door to my house and walked into the living room, where I saw my mother kneeling by the coffee table with rosary beads in her hands. She looked up at me and blinked. She obviously thought I was still locked up in my room. I could tell she knew where I had been though, and she gave me a small, sad smile before blessing herself again and returning to her prayers.

I shuffled my feet into our tiny bathroom and gasped at myself in surprise when I saw my reflection. My face was covered in dirt and grime, with stained tear trails that let my complexion show through- it was whiter than any ghost. My hair had bits of leaves and twigs in it, and was as frizzy as if I'd rubbed a balloon all over it and made it stand on end. The adhesive bandages of my broken nose were coming unstuck at one side. My eyes were puffy and ringed with circles. Timmy was correct in his anxieties- I was a living zombie.

"What's happening to you?" I questioned myself in the mirror, subconsciously wishing for an answer. I reached out to the knob of the faucet to wash away the traces of my misery, but didn't even get the water running before I heard my mother's voice.

"Al? You have some guests."

I frantically reached for my head and attempted to pull out the wildlife sanctuary that had taken a liking to my mane of hair. Giving up I slowly opened the bathroom door and poked my head out, nervous as to just who it would be at the door.

To my puzzlement, a woman I had never seen before stood in the doorway. Her dark black hair was pulled into a bun so tight I was afraid for her blood circulation, and she was wearing an old-fashioned gray dress with a collar. Next to her stood a man about a head taller than she; he had a beard of silver, which came down to his midriff, and wore spectacles. His nose was curiously crooked, and I inconspicuously rubbed mine in fear. The strangest thing about this man however, was his outfit. He was wearing a shirt decked out in Hawaiian flowers, with patched trousers and Mary-Jane shoes. I myself hadn't worn shoes like them since Kindergarten.

"Er, Can- Can I help you?" My voice was hoarse from unuse.

The woman quickly turned her glance to me, and her eyes widened quickly before she could control herself. I had the feeling she was refraining from tutting at my ridiculous appearance. The man slowly looked past my mother and locked his twinkling eyes with my own jaded ones.

"Is this a bad time? Well, if you need a quick minute to freshen up, we will be waiting outside with your gracious and quite beautiful mother, if I do say so myself." He turned his cheery face onto Mum's, who blushed before turning to me and giving me the most bewildered look of her life.

I stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door, unsure if I should be insulted or besotted by the old man's pleasant but blunt nature.

* * *

Thanks for reading. The song in this chapter is called "Winter" by Bayside and I strongly suggest that you look it up and listen to it; it makes me cry every single time I hear it. Thanks for reading, and drop a review if you have the time. Much love.


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